Binary
by PrimaImperatrix
Summary: Having someone to care about wasn't the shittiest thing in the universe, but Rick doesn't need time travel to know his future. This relationship has an expiration date. He and Bonnie were binary cosmic bodies, trapped in each other's gravity wells- a black hole orbiting a supernova. An apt analogy for sure, as their precarious relationship meant certain doom. (Rick/Bonnie oneshot)


A/N: I do not own Rick Sanchez or Bonnie Sinclair. They both belong to their respective owners, Dan Harmon/Justin Roiland and Icecry.

* * *

The glistening, prismatic miasma of the nebula served as their own personal Sistine Chapel filling the clear, carbon fiber dome of the ship. Idling in the vast emptiness of some random corner of space, the cabin lingered with the scent of perspiration and exceptionally high-proof booze. In the stillness that had followed, he was starting to feel a chill, the heat of their moment long passed. Rick and Bonnie laid silently under the ceiling of stars, lazily covered by one of those silver space blankets, which he had actually bought as a joke. Only the warmth of Bonnie's body pressed firmly against his chest kept him from covering up further. Whether that was because he cared too much to disturb her as he slept, or because he was really enjoying the way her tits pressed lusciously against his thin torso in the relatively small space of the back seat, creating a pristine view of her cleavage, he couldn't decide.

Whatever. Why overthink it? Why couldn't it be both? Tits were nice. Having someone to care about wasn't the shittiest thing in the universe. But, it would have been really nice to stretch out the fucking dancing needles in the arm she was using as a head rest. Even at rest, she kept him at bay.

 _What a bitch._

Sure, she was an cunning, emotionally manipulative bitch… but she was _his_ bitch. His take no shit, give no fucks, stimulating in all the right ways, bad ass bitch. She was as close to an equal as he was likely to find in this or any adjacent dimension. The woman could step through a portal anywhere in the universe and pinpoint their location by the planetary formations and star patterns. She could calibrate a laser pistol near blackout drunk, and still have enough mental stamina to hit a target. She could combine electricity and atmospheric gases to manifest life before breakfast, just to see how many ways she could destroy it by lunch, only the challenge herself to be able to resurrect it by dinner. Plus, she gave a righteous blow job.

Yep. Bonnibel Sinclair was one hell of a woman. He'd be a fool not to lock that shit down, that is, if he believed in that kind of archaic bullshit. Because, when Rick said Bonnie was _his_ , he didn't mean it in the terms of the alpha-male machismo that constituted ownership. They simply belonged to each other, oppositely polarized magnets unable to escape the force of attraction that brought them together.

Magnets. Not that destiny nonsense, or that soul-mate fuckery. They were just polarized particles caught in a force they had no control over. Science, bitches. Science.

Binary cosmic bodies, trapped in each other's gravity wells- a black hole orbiting a supernova.

An apt analogy for sure, as their precarious relationship meant certain doom. Even your average fucking bottom feeder could comprehend that when an all consuming void snared an imploding force, there were only two possible outcomes. Either one eventually lost stability so rapidly that it grew to consume the other, or they just gradually destroyed each other until nothing was left of themselves or anything caught in their general proximity.

That wasn't most people's idea of domestic-fucking-bliss, but fuck 'em. Fuck them and the outmoded notions they rode in on. Even Rick couldn't calculate the quantity of negative fucks he gave about how many nouns ended up as collateral damage, but the idea of destroying her, his brilliant, bad ass Bonnibel… that was fucking unacceptable.

"Son of a motherfucking bitch." Her muffled voice veered his attention away from her tits, for like, a second.

Bonnie shifted in his arms, gradually pushing herself up on her elbows, framing her cleavage into another delightful view between her arms. She moved his hands to her temples, guiding them to apply pressure and rub. He obliged, but didn't miss the opportunity to chide her.

"Lightweight."

"Stop staring at my tits, and massage," she said without even opening her eyes to catch him doing it. "If your blood rushes from your brain to your dick, you're going to lose your coordination, and then the whole endeavor is pointless."

"Geez, woman- any other demands?"

"Yeah. If I ever hear the words _Dilaxian Nectar_ come out of your mouth again, I swear to whatever powers-that-be who are listening, I will fucking end you."

"Here." He stopped rubbing and reached for something in the floorboard, only to raise a flask which he shook in front of her.

"Like hell," she scoffed.

"It's not booze, -urrp- quitter," he snorted. "It's more like gatorade spliced with a five-hour-energy shot mixed with all the shit you just killed inside your body that you inconveniently need to live." He raised his brow. "You'll feel like a brand new human, but it's gonna be one hell of a flush to your system though. I-I-I'm not gonna lie, Bon. In about fifteen minutes, it's-it's not gonna be pretty."

"Hard pass then," she dismissed the flask, brushing it aside, narrowing her gaze on him. "I'm not about to shit myself senseless in the backwoods intergalactic truckstop that is ground-zero for the birth of space-AIDS that you find for me to relieve myself."

A beat passed between them, and Bonnie looked at him suspiciously.

"Damn it," he groaned, squeezing the bridge of his nose, throwing his head back in agony.

"What?"

"I'm pretty sure I f-urrp-ucking love you."

"Seriously?" she cringed. "Why did you have to go and say something like that?"

"Yep," he sighed, defeated. " Shit. That seals it. Definitely fucking love you."

"Love's just a chemical reaction, Richard. I think they make a pill for it on Nuptia 4."

"St-stop being so fucking perfect, you insufferable cunt."

Bonnie smiled, dropping the bit. "That, I will absolutely not do."

"...because you are a selfish, emotionally vapid bitch."

"Quit with the foreplay, Rick. I have neither the energy or the will power for a fourth round."

She lifted her eyes towards the ceiling of stars, eyes widening at the thrill of it all, despite the fact that he knew she was as familiar with space as most human beings were the sky.

"I will never get tired of that view," she sighed contentedly. "You sure know how to pick 'em."

"Sure do," he answered, affecting that trademark Rick Sanchez confidence, raising a dextrous hand to graze the pad of his thumb across her cheek, feeling the warmth of her blush spread under the light smattering of freckles.

Rick didn't need to invent time-travel to see his future. Sure, he'd figured that shit out- time-travel was motherfucking child's play- but, that's not why he had done it. He didn't need to jump forward to know that this, whatever this was, whatever it turned out to be… it had an expiration date. She was the brightest star in his universe, and he was the all consuming void from which not even light or hope or love could escape. And, Rick refused to let her supernova fade simply because she was caught by his darkness. She would burn out on her own terms, even if the explosion took the galaxy with it. She was too much like him to avoid her own path of self-destruction, but he would be damned if it was because of him.

"Cocky bastard." Bonnie rolled her eyes.

"Scheming succubus," he deadpanned. "In all seriousness though, it's pretty imper-urrp-ative that you hydrate."

Fishing around beneath the seat again, this time he retrieved a half-finished bottle of water.

"Here, water. I swear." He held up the sign for Scout's Honor.

Snatching the bottle out of his hand, she removed the cap and drank greedily as she closed her eyes and savored the sensation of sating her thirst. Her tits totally bounced against his chest with every swallow. But, as delightful as that was, it wasn't as astonishing as how she trusted him so implicitly. She didn't question him or even sniff the contents first- she knew he would never jeopardize her safety by pushing her past a limit she didn't want to willingly cross.

And, that is exactly why one day, he was going to have to leave, even if she hated him for it. To preserve the only thing in the universe he actually loved, loved more than himself anyway, he would eventually have to become the one thing she would need to hate.

Break her heart to save her mind.

That was not today, or tomorrow. If there was any luck in this godless universe, it wouldn't be anytime soon. But, it was out there. A date unknown, lurking in the shadows of oblivion until he understood it was time. Until then, he still had his supernova, and maybe, just maybe, some of her dying light would stave off his darkness, at least for a little while.


End file.
